


Blabbermouth

by DoubtingRabbit



Category: Malith
Genre: Cis Male Character, Gay Male Character, M/M, Old Married Couple, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-16 01:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19634458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubtingRabbit/pseuds/DoubtingRabbit
Summary: A short smut fanfic for Nicholas D. Andersen's novel, Crossleaves, set on his gallows humor fantasy world of Malith.





	Blabbermouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NothingEnough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingEnough/gifts).



> I'm literally like one of eight people who own the novel, so I don't expect many hits for this one, lol ... But there's definitely going to be a second chapter.

Wenn was summoned to Abbot Einhin's parlor after the midmorning bell. He had delivered his reports and could finally go out to the gardens, when the messenger dragged him off of his usual track.

The Abbot's parlor was a grand room, deep into the caves the abbey was settled into, with a triple fireplace and dozens of candlesticks that filled the whole room with light. It was much larger than the cells he shared with his fellow department heads, and decorated by generations of monks past to make use of the firelight, but it stood in Wenn's memory as a terrible place. In his youth, when he first took his vows of obedience and silence, it had seemed like some kind of holy place to him. 

From that day forward, to him, it was a sacred place of knowledge, where his teachers and mentors took their orders from the cool dim of the libraries to the bright, warm truth of the outside world. It stayed that way until Einhin was promoted from deanship to Abbotship. Then his perception had changed.

Brother Einhin, on the other hand had never much cared for Wenn's approach to monkhood. In fact he didn't care much for Wenn in general. And once he gained the Abbey bored into the northeastern face of the Lawben, he made that dislike well-known with extra duties.

Even as Wenn entered the room, he couldn't help but sneer, making it clear exactly he thought Wenn  _ enjoyed _ the life of a monk too much to be living it properly. In Abbot Einhin's philosophy, a monk's life was one of strictness, severity, and serious study, and the man before him broke it without a thought. Wenn did everything wrong, from enjoying his meals, to singing with cheer at the ev'n service, and the occasional romantic dalliances with a fellow monk when they could be certain they were outside the abbey's territory.

From the rigid and upright abbot's perspective, brother Wenn had indulged in more than enough pleasure; his special assignments were punishments.

And so, being called into the Abbot's parlor no longer held the solemn joy it once had, instead a creeping apprehension of an oncoming assignment meant to test his fortitude and take him out of his routines.

Wenn shuddered as he stood before the Abbot--the man was tall, dark and striking even when seated--and met his forefinger to his thumb and lifted his hand in a gesture that asked, ' _ Why am I here?' _ as politely as possible. But, before Einhin could respond, someone else cut in.

"Me, again," said the sunwarm, gravelly voice of Wenn's personal scourge. _ Jack. _

Wenn's stomach sank. Whenever Einhin sent him on a special assignment, it was always for some job of Jack's. For this infuriating bumpkin who was just clever enough to bait Wenn into endless arguing... and who had the kind of hard-honed body that drove Wenn up a wall.

"You'll be assisting in local research for Jack on a mission to the village of Gullsterner. It is under attack by a harpy-goat hybrid of some sort."

Einhin might have seemed annoyed thanks to his clipped-and-rolled accent, but he always sounded snippy when he spoke... but the way he glared at Jack sealed it. Jack didn't seem to notice; his interests lay more in scratching the short, tight curls of his hair and knocking the mud from his boots on Einhin's favorite rug. 

In resignation, Wenn signed his crooked forefinger in an arc across his chest, asking how long he had to prepare.

"Not long. I expect you out before I ring the midday bells. The trip shouldn't take more than a day. Pack light."

His gestures pleading for some kind of leniency, for the time to adjust for the trip, were useless; Einhin ignored his hands and returned his eyes to his work, dismissing the pair. And Jack couldn't parse the signaling any better than Wenn could Jack's backwoods second language.

"Aw, c'mon, Father, didn't you miss me since Niner last? Your eyebrows have even grown back!" Jack tossed a well-wrought arm around Wenn's shoulders, dragged him in close as they left the parlor for his cell.

Wenn sneered and shivered all at once, at the teasing and the hard body half-pressed against his side.

-

To Jack, there were a few benefits to having Wenn on hand. That he was a researching machine, a man more suited to dry rooms full of dryer paper was one of them, but another was how easy it was to wind him up. One errant or ignorant comment and Wenn would amble off into a rant on any given topic, keeping Jack entertained for a good quarter of an hour, at least. It helped their long trips to fly by.

Today, though, he needn't even start. Wenn started his ranting the moment they left the Abbey's borders. He had no shortage of things to complain about. He started by correcting Jack-- _"I'm NOT a Father! I'm a monk! It's not religious order a'tall!!"_

It went on from there. Everything was a hassle; from having to wear shoes on the rocky path, to his schedule being interrupted when he had _ so very many _ matters to tend to before the summer's first harvest. It seemed that the vow of silence had bunged up a torrent of words that he was now able to unleash at will.

And, gods, how Jack wished he wouldn't. Sure, the monk was good looking enough, but it was in an odd-duck sort of way. With his straw-yellow hair, soft body and scrawny legs, skin an almost milky pale from his coastal heritage and days spent indoors or under straw gardening hats, his wide mouth and a nose like a great leaping arc off his face… well, Jack wasn't sure why the attraction for him consumed him so at times. Wenn's sexiness barely made up for times like now, with his neverending rolling drone of a sermon, currently on the topic of some clump of weeds they saw in passing and whatever mess they were good for....  He didn't care. 

By the time the sun began to hint at setting, Jack had gone silent. He'd lost the trail and had to loop back and now it was getting late. With no village in sight, a growing need to set up camp, and a very fussy monk on his hands, he had no time for banter. Even his expressive eyebrows, thick and lopsided over glowing brown eyes stayed flat and bored, which wound Wenn up even more. The monk hated getting no response whatsoever.

Throughout the preparing of, and complaining about, their meal of roasted tubers and some minty-lemon leaves he himself had foraged and made, Wenn's mouth didn't stop running. The walk to the nearby brook to wash up before supper would have been a nice time to hear birdsong, but instead, Jack heard only Wenn's reedy voice on the wind. And the sunset would have been a nice view, but instead it was blocked by Wenn's wriggling as he kicked off his little-used traveling boots and then pulled off his scapular, belt and robe so that he could wade knee-deep on the stones into the shallow edge of water.

Alright, so that part wasn't too bad in Jack's point of view. Sure, Wenn was more scrawny-limbed than tone and had a soft swell to his belly from eating well and sitting much, but his enviably thick cock, ass and thighs were all good enough for looking at. He cut a pretty picture as he rinsed off his face and arms and chest in the cold water and then dumped a few palmfuls over his head, the warm evening air drying his short, pale blond hair with the last of his bath dripping off the curve of his ass even as he stood up to redress.

"What?" Wenn asked, peevish. "You're not going to respond to me for hours, and then you're going to stare at me? Come on, now, wash up so we can eat and get to sleep on the godsforsaken ground like a couple of animals! The sooner morning comes, the sooner this whole thing will be over with!"

Letting him talk, Jack shucked his clothes, boots to trousers to greatcoat to shirt, and winced as he felt his junk retract up under his ribcage and his nipples harden in the cold water. Didn't take much to notice that Wenn hadn't left the waterside for the camp, though, so busy staring was he now.

Wouldn't blame the monk for his reaction, either, his body was a point of pride. He was cut on farmwork, honed on living rough, and refined with hunting. Wherever Wenn was soft, Jack was hard; arms thick with bowstring-drawing muscles, stomach taut and defined from lean eating and hard working, one thigh thick as two of Wenn's. Where he differed was the extra pads of fat on his chest and hips that his weekly tea didn't cover, and his cock--which, now, in the icy water drew back up into his pussy, belying the length and width he could achieve with stimulation. Didn't stop Wenn from looking... and it damn sure shut him up.

The moment's silence gave Jack an idea, and after scrubbing away the day, when the water slid off his brown skin with the sunset catching all the rich orange-gold tones beneath, he climbed back up to where Wenn waited, gawping. But he didn't dress himself, instead he pushed the monk back against the incline on the grassy slope down to the brook.

"Excuse you!" Wenn started to say, but he was cut off--the view of Jack's cock taking the wind out of his argument.

"Shut up." Jack straddled his chest, the wool scapular scratching along the insides of his thighs as he pinned Wenn down. His grey eyes curved with a wicked smile. "Talk, talk, talk. All day long, that's all you've done. Do something better with your mouth, ay?"

With that he drew two blunt and calloused fingers in a 'v' up against his pussy, black curls cut as close as on his head, and coaxed his cock into making an appearance despite the recent dash of cold water. Wenn hungrily licked his lips and craned his head forward to give the crown of Jack's cock a lick as it peaked out from beneath the heavy hood of his foreskin. He slurped and suckled, tugging at Jack's cunt lips with his teeth in between his own moans.

Before very long he was involved in his work, Wenn sucking and licking with his face buried between Jack's thighs and the other man's gruff voice giving him encouragement through half-words and grunts. The flavor, the feel of Jack's cock in his mouth was always so different from the other men he'd sucked off--not even that it was smaller, or attached to a cunt... but the rough texture of the hair, the flow of precum, the solid spine of Jack's cock against his tongue were all fascinating, easy to lose himself to. And Jack was more than happy to take advantage, wind blunt fingers in damp hair and grind hard against Wenn's greedy tongue and thin lips, rewarding each correct move with more groaning and gasping. In return, Wenn clutched at Jack's tight ass and sucking noisily at his cock at he grew harder and wetter, mewling in excited desperation to beat Jack's growling.

And when Jack finally ground his cock hard against Wenn's tongue and gushed against his lips, Wenn happily sucked down every drop. Jack nearly had to pry him off from his twitching, spent cock (but let him mouth over the flush lips of his cunt for a moment) and then moved back, giving the monk some air to breathe and admire the way he blushed so bright.

"That's better," Jack said, hoarsely through his crooked smile.

Wenn pushed to his elbows, the look of arousal starting to fade for annoyance. "That's it?"

"That's it," Jack agreed, stood and gathered his clothes.

"Surely you're joking!" Wenn said.

"Smells like your roots're burning, Reverend," was Jack's only response as he walked away.

"I'm not a fucking reverend, either!"


End file.
